The Dogs of War
by Simon920
Summary: Garth and Dick are caught in the middle after Atlantis goes to war against the surface. Slash, but really, I don't think they're ever even in the same room so nothing graphic in the forst part of the story. The final section is now up. This one, while not
1. Default Chapter

The Dogs of War  
  
"Dick, please, just listen for a second. Arthur is recalling all our  
Ambassadors from the NATO countries, including me. We've been ordered  
to leave within the hour, probably less."  
  
"What are you talking about? Why would he do that? It doesn't make  
any sense."  
  
"You're not listening to me. We're being recalled home because he's  
going to declare war and is afraid that we'll be used as hostages."  
  
"He can't do this. This is insane,"  
  
"I know that, we all do but he won't listen to any sort of reason. He  
insists that American sub violated our water space. He says it was  
spying and has declared it an act of aggression by the US and her  
allies. He's saying that he's going to make the announcement as soon  
as we clear allied territory."  
  
"But how can he force you to leave? You can't just..."  
  
"Dick, listen to me. There are guards here, Xan and Marcus and I are  
being ordered home. We have no choice. They're going to escort us out  
any minute. The declaration of war will probably come within a couple  
of hours."  
  
"But..."  
  
"He knows that we can't win a war with the surface nations but he's  
determined to fight anyway. We'll be annihilated."  
  
"But maybe it's just a negotiating tactic or something and he's not  
telling you."  
  
"Our Navy has been mobilizing for weeks, they're arming to full  
strength and are already moving to blockade major surface ports. As  
soon as they're in position, Arthur is going to issue the  
declaration. We've all been trying to defuse him, but he won't listen  
to anyone. This is real."  
  
"Why didn't you say something?"  
  
"I couldn't tell anyone. I was under orders not to talk."  
  
"But..."  
  
"Just listen. I only have another minute before they realize that I'm  
talking to you. The guards are just outside. I had my cel in my  
pocket and they're afraid to search royalty—Don't you understand what  
I'm saying? A blockade is an act of war in itself, even without a  
declaration. The other nation's Ambassadors have been calling and  
demanding meetings for weeks trying to find out what's going on with  
the build up and the movements and we can't give them any solid  
answers. We've been under a gag order." There was some background  
noise, voices and the sound of things falling or being thrown.  
  
"Garth?"  
  
A loud voice, angry words in Atlan came through the phone. "We're  
being moved out. I'll try to contact you." There was the sound of a  
struggle, of the phone being dropped or thrown and the line went dead.  
  
Dick stared at the cel in his hand. Holy Fuck.  
  
Automatically he dialed Bruce's private number, the one only about  
four people in the world had. It was answered on the third ring.  
  
"Yes?"  
  
"Do you know anything about what's going on with Arthur declaring war  
against some of the surface nations?"  
  
"Only that he's scaring a whole lot of people. Have you heard from  
Garth what's going on?"  
  
"He says that it's for real and that their Ambassador's, including  
him, are being forced home under armed guard. Shit, Bruce, he's gone."  
  
"Have you spoken to Barbara?"  
  
"No, not yet. Do you know anyone in the State Department you could  
ask? Does anyone in the JLA know anything?"  
  
"All I know is that he's been acting more paranoid by the day for the  
past few months and that he's seeing threats under every bed and in  
every shadow."  
  
"Garth says that they can't win a war with the surface, but he's  
determined to fight anyway. It sounds like he's suicidal or  
something."  
  
"Yes, I think he might be. Do you know if there's anyway that he  
could be removed from power? Has Garth ever told you about any checks  
and balances that they might have?"  
  
"No. All he ever said is that princes either die of old age or  
murder. And he's mentioned that Arthur is above the law."  
  
"Hell. Maybe the JLA will have to stop him."  
  
"That would be interfering with a foreign country."  
  
"It wouldn't be the first time. I'll get on this. You let me know if  
you learn anything."  
  
The connection was broken.  
  
Not knowing what else to do for a second, he clicked on the TV and  
turned to CNN. The breaking story banner was up and some talking head  
was going on about the growing crisis situation that was developing  
and how nations around the world were moving to act to protect their  
ports and shipping with all possible speed. Navies were mobilizing  
and statements were being prepared. All ships at sea were being  
ordered into the nearest port since no one really knew what the Atlan  
navy was capable of.  
  
He hit the computer. "Barbara? You there?"  
  
The screen immediately lit up. "I'm here. Your boyfriend OK so far?"  
  
"He's been forced home. What's going on, Barbara? Can they really do  
any damage or are they just saber rattling?"  
  
"Their weapon capabilities are unknown. No one has ever made an  
inspection and they've never been forthcoming as to what they have  
available. Even Garth has stonewalled me when I've asked him. My  
guess is that with a nation as advanced as Atlantis, though, you  
don't want them pissed off at you if you can avoid it."  
  
"Is this really war?"  
  
"Not yet, but it looks like it will be pretty soon. The Atlantean  
government announced that they would have a statement within about  
half an hour."  
  
The newsreader at CNN was talking again against the scrolling  
banner. "We've received confirmed reports that the ports of New York,  
New Orleans, Los Angeles, San Francisco, San Diego, London, Sydney,  
Tokyo, Havana and others have been closed by blockades of Atlantean  
warships. Reports are that while no shots have been fired, ships both  
trying to either enter or leave these ports have been warned that any  
attempt to cross blockade lines will result in their being fired  
upon. In addition, there are reasons to believe that the entranceways  
to these harbors have been mined." The woman looked off camera for a  
moment. "This just handed to me. The American State Department had  
ordered a freeze on all assets owned by any Atlantean government  
agencies, businesses or individuals, effective immediately."  
  
She looked off camera for a second. "We have an analysis as to what  
this could mean from our economic expert, Dr. Peter Mueser. Peter,  
are you there?" There were a few seconds of blank screen then another  
cut back to the head. "We seem to be having some technical  
difficulties but we'll get that to you as soon as we can."  
  
"Recapping. Atlantean warships have blockaded major ports around the  
world and in response the American government has frozen all assets  
of that country that are registered in the US. England and Australia  
have followed suit with the freeze. We are going to a live feed now  
from what I'm told is the Senate Chamber of the Atlantean Government,  
located approximately a mile and a half underwater in the mid-  
Atlantic. A spokesman is ready to deliver a statement."  
  
A man wearing Atlantean robes was standing behind a rostrum. He spoke  
in accented English.  
  
"Ladies and Gentlemen. As of twelve noon, Atlan time, approximately  
fifteen minutes ago, a state of war exists between our nation and the  
United States of America. Any nation in any way siding with the  
United States or in any way aiding that nation against us will be  
considered to be acting in an aggressive manner and the state of war  
will extend to include that nation as well.  
  
"We do not make this decision lightly, however, our national  
boundaries have been violated innumerable times and our people  
poisoned by the intentional dumping of toxic wastes in such a manner  
as to intentionally kill and maim. Efforts to negotiate treaties to  
put an end to these violations have failed.  
  
"We have no choice but to defend ourselves and protect our population.  
  
"In accordance with this announcement, our ambassadors have been  
recalled and are, at this moment, enroute home. Any treaties already  
in place are subject to review on a case-by-case basis. Several major  
surface ports have been blockade so as to prevent military and  
private shipping from interfering with out national interests. At  
this time we also wish to state that we cannot guarantee the safety  
of any foreign vessel found within the limits of our legal  
boundaries. Our National borders are to be crossed only at your own  
risk."  
  
From a central room on the surface, there was a babble of voices from  
the assembled reporters who were assigned to cover the  
announcement. "No questions at this time." The spokesman walked out.  
  
The screen shifted to one of the national talking heads. "To recap; A  
man identified as The Duke of Panos, has just announced that war has  
just been declared against the United States by Atlantis as a result  
of what they term repeated violations against their national borders  
and what was referred to as the deliberate dumping of toxic wastes.  
He further stated that a number of major ports around the world have  
been blockaded and that worldwide shipping and passenger ships can  
not expect safe passage should they attempt to cross any of their  
national lines. There have also been reports coming in from reliable  
sources that some harbors have been mined."  
  
The screen cut to a graphic of the area claimed by Atlantis. "Since  
official contact with the Atlantean government was established less  
than a decade ago, there is a tremendous amount that we simply don't  
know about this country which is known for rejecting almost all  
outside contact. We do know that it's ruled by King Orin who is,  
apparently, an absolute monarch. We know that they have some sort of  
parliament or representative council from the fifteen separate city-  
states that make up their nation. We do not know their population,  
their GNP or, unfortunately, their military capabilities. We do know  
that they are quite advanced technically. In some areas they are  
acknowledged to be significantly ahead of surface nations."  
  
Another head broke in. "Does that mean that the threats could be  
backed up with real weapons?"  
  
"Unfortunately, no one knows for sure, but the American State  
Department is apparently acting under the assumption that they can do  
pretty much whatever they claim they can."  
  
"There has been some speculation for several months now that King  
Orin might be under a tremendous amount of stress and that he might  
react in an inappropriate manner should something occur which he  
perceives as a threat. Could that be what we are seeing now?"  
  
"A number of people in the State Department have considered that  
possibility, especially in light of the fact that the King has  
recalled his ambassadors out of alleged fear for their personal  
safety. That would hint at paranoia. For a more in depth analysis of  
that possibility, we go to out medical expert, Dr. Frank Carver."  
  
Dick's phone rang, causing him to jump. "Yes?"  
  
"Dick? Mr. Grayson? It's Ann Ryder, the Prince's assistant. Have you  
seen what's happening?"  
  
"Yes, he called me. Do you know anything?"  
  
"Not all that much. Look, I'm really scared and I think you're the  
only one who might understand what I'm going through right now. I'm  
sorry to break in like this, but could I come over to your place?"  
She heard the pause. "I could be there in five minutes, I'm almost  
across the bridge now."  
  
"Yeah, of course. Top floor."  
  
The Medical expert on CNN was going on citing past examples of  
Arthur's temper and various neurosis. In all the years that he'd had  
a passing acquaintance with the King, Dick never had liked the man.  
There was something about him that just seemed—off. He was a loose  
cannon and when you coupled that with the crap he had pulled on Garth  
over all those years...yeah, well Dick knew that there was a pretty  
good chance that the guy would flip out at some point.  
  
It seemed that flip point had arrived.  
  
He wasn't even all that surprised when he had a minute to let it sink  
in. It seemed that he had started getting weird a few years ago when  
his son had been killed and his marriage headed south. Whatever he  
had been using to hold himself together, at least most of the time  
seemed to have unraveled then.  
  
He heard the knock on the door.  
  
Ann.  
  
She stood there, took one look at him, put her arms around him and  
started crying. He hugged her back, for himself as much as for her.  
  
"It was a nightmare. We were just working in the office. It wasn't  
even lunchtime yet. The Prince was on another floor talking with the  
rep from South Africa. I was in the front, near the reception desk  
when one of the UN guards came in and said that there were some men  
who demanded to see the Ambassador and Marcus and that they were  
armed, but they were from Atlantis and insisted that they were there  
under orders from the King.  
  
"They pushed their way in—I don't know how they got up to our floor,  
but they did. We couldn't use the phones to warn the men, they  
wouldn't let us. When Gar....the Prince and Marcus walked back in from  
their meeting, they walked right into it. They had no idea.  
  
"The three of them were taken back to Gar..." She started to apologize.  
  
"It's OK. That's what I call him. Go on. Who was the third man?"  
  
"They took them back to Garth's office. Oh, I forgot. Xan—you know  
him, their Ambassador to the US? He was up with us today for  
meetings, too, so he was with Garth and Marcus. I couldn't understand  
what they were saying because it was in Atlan and they were speaking  
really fast. I'm starting to learn it, but it was too fast for me and  
I think they were using some slang, too.  
  
"About an hour later their guards took the three of them out. Garth  
asked me to tell you what happened."  
  
Dick moved her further into the apartment, sitting her on the couch  
beside him, his arm still around her shoulders. "He called me from  
his office, I think. He had his cel with him. I knew that he was  
being forced back against his will."  
  
"Then I started hearing the reports of what's happening. We didn't  
know what to do, so I stayed there, answering the phones and the  
questions that were flooding in from everybody—the other countries,  
reporters, the White House. Then after about an hour, we got a call  
from the Council in Atlantis. We were ordered to shut the office,  
lock the door and go home. I heard that the town house is under  
guard, too. The city of New York has stationed cops in front to avoid  
any retaliatory damage happening."  
  
"Ann, did you know any of this was going down before it happened this  
morning? Were there any warnings at all or were the Ambassadors all  
kept in the dark?"  
  
"I don't really know. I think they had an idea that something was up  
a week or maybe two ago. There were a lot of things going on behind  
closed doors and they were making a point of speaking in Atlan so  
that no one would know what they were saying. And it wasn't even just  
Atlan—some of us can understand that a little. They were using some  
weird dialect that no one up here knows. I know that Garth moved a  
lot of money out of this country—both official accounts and his own  
stuff. Really a lot of money. Tens of billions of dollars. The  
Federal Trade Commission and the SEC and the Wall Street watch dogs  
were calling but I guess that it was all legal because it all went  
through to protected off shore accounts." She took a Kleenex from the  
box on the coffee table, blew her nose. "He must have had a reason to  
suspect that the assets would be frozen or something. I don't know,  
maybe he was acting under orders."  
  
Their attention was taken by the TV. "This just in. There are  
confirmed report of shots being exchanged near the border claimed by  
Atlantis in the Atlantic Ocean, about one thousand miles east of New  
York City. The first reports are that an American destroyer has been  
fired upon and has sustained what could be serious damage. Other  
Naval ships are responding to this exchange and are moving to aid the  
damaged ship. There is no immediate word of casualties."  
  
"Oh, shit." Dick sounded so—sad. It was really starting. "Ann, the  
news reports and what I've gotten from some friends is that even  
with the new openness and the treaties and Ambassadors that  
Atlantis has sent to the surface the last few years, we really don't  
know much about them. Not the real nuts and bolts. I heard that it  
isn't even known what their population is. You work with them  
everyday—you must have heard something."  
  
"Well you live with him. You would know as much as I do. OK, I'm  
sorry. I just know mostly what everyone knows about them, they're  
smart and nice and they have incredible artwork. They're  
sophisticated and advanced but they kept all kinds of things  
classified. They were always very nice about it, but the reports  
would always be encrypted and even basic stuff like how their  
government worked, the line of succession, their GNP—all of that was  
glossed over. Major things like their military capabilities weren't  
ever open for discussion."  
  
"Well, they must have been asked."  
  
"Of course they were. They'd either politely change the subject to  
something they were willing to discuss or just say they couldn't talk  
about it."  
  
"How did they get away with that? I mean they were dealing with the  
UN and the State Department?"  
  
"They wouldn't have been able to pull it off much longer, I don't  
think. They were just so charming and they milked they whole mystique  
about being from underwater and being the stuff of legend for all it  
was worth. They knew exactly what they were doing. If they were about  
to be cornered they would come up with a major change of subject like  
that art exhibit at the Met they hosted."  
  
"That was calculated? I mean beyond a PR thing?"  
  
"Of course it was. They were starting to get tough questions about  
their sources of power and the size of their military. They wouldn't  
answer that sort of thing. That was all Garth's idea when they knew  
that they were close to being busted for hard answers."  
  
"Did Garth ever come out and say this to you?"  
  
"Of course not, but being there every day, it was pretty obvious."  
  
"Shit, he even told me that it was a big cultural thing so people on  
the surface would start to get to know them."  
  
"And I think that was part of it—but a small part. It was a big smoke  
screen."  
  
"What about Marcus? You two were getting pretty tight there. Did he  
ever talk about any of this?"  
  
"Marcus? God no. He was—is completely loyal to his government. He'd  
do anything they asked and he's so cowed by the whole royalty thing  
that he's wipe Garth's shoes if he was asked. They wouldn't ever  
leave anything lying around at night or even if they just went to  
lunch. Security was subtle, but it was tight. No one knew anything  
that they weren't supposed to."  
  
The TV caught them again. "We have breaking news. It has just been  
announced that the USS Potomac has been sunk with heavy loss of life.  
We have live pictures and we are...are we?...Yes, we are going to the  
scene." The screen shifted to a shot of the Mid Atlantic on a sunny  
day taken from a helicopter. There were several ships surrounding a  
burning oil slick and men were being pulled from the water by means  
of other copters and small lifeboats.  
  
"We have no word yet as to the number of sailors who have been lost,  
but the first reports are that at least several hundred crew are  
missing. We're going to a radio report from aboard the aircraft  
carrier USS JF Kennedy at the scene.  
  
"Yes? This is Captain Jon Thatcher speaking. We were cruising  
together about half an hour ago when we heard and saw a large  
explosion from the Potomac, which was just astern of us at the time.  
It appeared to be some sort of powerful torpedo or something similar.  
It appeared to hit near the ordinance and within about two minutes  
the ship just went up."  
  
"Captain, are there many survivors?"  
  
"We're bringing them in now, but it seems that there was heavy lose  
of life."  
  
"Is there any question as to whom is responsible, sir?"  
  
"Several minutes the attack we received a radio warning from a voice  
purporting to be a Naval officer of the Atlantean Navy warning us to  
change course."  
  
"And did you do so?"  
  
"No, we don't recognize the border they are claiming."  
  
"They issued a second warning, we continued, they told us that they  
would start shooting and they did."  
  
"Did the Atlantean ship ever show itself?"  
  
"No, it's some sort of sub. It hasn't surfaced."  
  
"Have they offered to aid the men in the water?"  
  
"No, but they did say that they wouldn't hamper rescue efforts."  
  
"Have they?"  
  
"No, we haven't been impeded."  
  
Dick turned the sound off. "That's that. Now there will be  
retaliation and it will escalate."  
  
"You know the thing about them that really struck me all the time I  
worked with them?"  
  
He looked at her, shrugged. "What?"  
  
"They're smart. I mean they're really smart. Even the people they  
brought up here to be menials, the cooks and the maids are really  
smart people. Well read and informed. At first I just thought that  
they had decided to bring the best helpers they could, but then I  
started wondering why someone who could discuss the great  
philosophers was dicing vegetables or making beds."  
  
"You think they were spies of something?"  
  
"I don't know, but it seemed odd."  
  
"I never really paid that much attention to the others besides  
Marcus. I think I spoke to one of the maids a couple of times, but  
that's about it. I know Garth and Marcus are both pretty damn bright.  
Hell, Garth is miles ahead of me when it comes to all that stuff he  
was doing. Half of the time he would talk about something and I  
hadn't a clue."  
  
"They used to wipe the floor with the other reps at the UN, but they  
would do it with so much charm that no one ever really noticed that  
they'd just been hosed. And after a dinner or something they would  
talk about it and what had been said and they would nail every nuance  
and little slip—they were always doing that. A lot of times they  
would laugh about how easy it was."  
  
He got up to get the phone. "I'm going to order some dinner. What  
would you like? Chinese?"  
  
"Sure, Fine. Anything is fine." The food ordered, they returned to  
the couch.  
  
"You think that this whole thing at the UN and all was a cover of  
some kind?"  
  
"No—maybe—I don't know. I don't want to think that it is—was. I like  
them. I really like them."  
  
"You think that they were just using us and the UN and whatever else  
to gather information for their government or something?"  
  
"I—I think that they genuinely like us and that they were here to  
open doors and negotiate the treaties and all of that, but I believe  
that there was another agenda. Sure I believe that."  
  
"Like what?"  
  
"I don't know, but I do know that their loyalties are to their  
country and their King—especially Garth. Isn't he the next in line to  
the throne? He always downplayed it, but he's as royal as you can  
get."  
  
"Did you ever hear them talk about Arthur—Orin?"  
  
"Only bits and pieces. I think they thought that he was nuts and had  
to be contained."  
  
"If Arthur found out then he'll see Garth as a threat to his power.  
He's in danger going back home. Do you think that Garth would look  
for a way to supplant Arthur?"  
  
"I think that Garth loves his country and would whatever he thinks is  
necessary to protect it."  
  
"If Arthur thinks Garth is a threat to him...shit."  
  
TBC  
  
3/29/03

Dogs of War 2  
Part Two  
  
Garth and the others, the other Atlan ambassadors to the various  
surface nations and their senior staffs had been taken, against  
their will almost two weeks ago. They had finally arrived back in  
Posidonis and had been kept, cooling their heels in various rooms of  
the palace waiting for King Orin, Arthur, to deign to see them.  
  
They were still waiting.  
  
Garth was ensconced in his usual private quarters, the ones he'd  
used since he was a child so at least he was slightly more at home,  
more at ease than the others. His own books were there and his own  
things, though it was apparent that they had been searched. The two  
doors were locked, but at least it wasn't an actual cell, just a  
literal one.  
  
The balcony overlooking the courtyard, the one where he had enjoyed  
quietly reading by himself when he was younger and alone, that had  
been shut off. His communication devices, what on the surface would  
be phones and e-mail, were removed.  
  
The only contact allowed was through servants loyal to Arthur. They  
would appear twice a day with food and see to whatever needs he  
might have. Though polite, they would answer no questions. His own  
retainers, people who had been with him since his childhood, were  
nowhere to be seen and he could only hope that they were safe.  
  
Arthur had, as far as Garth could figure, finally snapped.  
  
There had been some concern among the others, Garth's close friends  
in the diplomatic corps, that Arthur couldn't handle the strain any  
longer, that he was becoming dangerously unbalanced and was losing  
perspective, but no one would say anything for fear that the results  
would be deadly.  
  
Arthur was known, among the people in Atlantis, as uncompromising  
when it came to any perceived threats to his nation and a coup or  
attempt to either remove him from the throne or to control him would  
not have been taken well. Unless it succeeded of course, and no one  
was willing to take the chance of trying and failing.  
  
They would speak among themselves during the last year or so, when  
they knew no one could hear, but had not yet been able to make any  
moves to mediate his growing anger against the surface nations.  
  
It had been a fairly ordinary day at the UN, Xan as Atlantean  
ambassador to the US was up from Washington to go over a couple of  
trade agreements which were ready to be finalized and Marcus, the  
Under Councilor at the UN—basically Garth's right hand man— had been  
in on the meetings as well.  
  
The first round of meetings over, the three men had taken the  
elevator upstairs to the 23rd floor to their own mission offices and  
had walked into an ambush.  
  
Atlantean soldiers, Arthur's personal guards from the looks and  
demeanor or them, had surrounded them in the reception area. They  
had been hustled back to Garth's office, the rest of the staff told  
to shut everything down, and had been effectively imprisoned for  
twenty minutes while they could hear the outside offices being  
ransacked. When the UN security guards had attempted to intervene,  
they had been told that it was an internal matter and didn't concern  
them.  
  
Cowed, slightly, by his royal status Garth had been spared the body  
search the others had been subjected to and so had been able to  
secretly make one quick call to Dick, letting him know what was  
going on before the cel was smashed against a wall when one of the  
guards walked in mid call. The armed Atlans won their argument  
against the UN officials; the men had been escorted out of the  
building and to a ship waiting in the river. They had been brought  
directly back to their own capitol with no outside contact, either  
to or from the men was allowed.  
  
The news reports they had gotten while enroute home confirmed that  
the Atlan Navy had blockaded a number of major surface ports and had  
fired upon and sunk an American warship with heavy loss of life. The  
official announcements and the declaration of war had been paranoid  
and irrational. The fear around the world was real and well founded.  
  
No one on the surface knew the extent of the Atlan military  
capabilities. No one knew their abilities in technology. They had no  
idea if they had one ship or a thousand. There was no information on  
the surface about their population, the number of cities they had,  
the internal workings of the government or what any long-term  
policies were.  
  
No one knew what they could do.  
  
No one knew what they would do, or why.  
  
That had been the unofficial position for years and nothing Garth or  
any of the others said would sway Arthur in the slightest. He  
refused to release any information that could possibly be used  
against them.  
  
It had been Arthur's firm policy, one Garth had fought, that nothing  
substantive would be forthcoming during the last two years of  
opening talks and treaties negotiations with the surface. Everything  
was classified, everything was secret. No matter how he had argued  
that to have a true alliance there had to be some degree of trust,  
no matter what was said or what proof was given, Arthur would allow  
no real information through.  
  
The Atlans, the ones in direct contact with the landsmen, knew that  
they would have to divulge information soon. Hard questions were  
being asked and no amount of charm or diversions would satisfy the  
men on the surface much longer.  
  
They were running out of time.  
  
Finally, in the last month Arthur had seen every slight, real or  
imagined, as a prelude to war. Three and a half weeks ago Garth had  
been ordered to start moving all Atlantean assets out of any bank or  
stock or fund based in any member NATO country. Billions, tens of  
billions had been moved. He'd pulled every string he had to allow  
the off shore transfer of that much capital, but it had finally been  
allowed. Listening to the rumors that were swirling, he had become  
convinced that there was a real danger accounts would be frozen and  
so had moved his own surface held holdings along with the rest.  
  
Three weeks ago he had been informed through secret diplomatic  
channels that an American Naval sub had strayed into waters claimed  
by Atlantis. Arthur was convinced that the ship was there on a spy  
mission.  
  
Garth had been the only Atlan rep who was kept completely abreast of  
the situation, with strict orders to keep everything top secret. No  
one was to be told anything, not even his most trusted advisors.  
Even Dick had been kept in the dark.  
  
The next day orders to mobilize the Atlan Naval, already standing at  
alert, had gone out and the first moves to blockade surface ports  
had begun.  
  
The blockades were put in place and within hours the representatives  
had been forcibly recalled and a declaration of war had been issued.  
  
In hours the first surface ship had been sunk.  
  
Garth could have told the surface navies that they stood no chance  
against Atlan weapons, not in or on the water.  
  
They stood no chance. None.  
  
He had laughed as a child the first time he had heard the  
song, Rule Britannia'. Britannia didn't rule the waves. Atlantis  
did. They had technology that hadn't even been thought of on the  
surface yet. They knew things about the waters and the oceans of the  
planet no one on the surface could imagine. They had harnessed power  
and created weapons that...  
  
The surface nations stood no chance against them, not on or in  
water.  
  
There seemed to be a pervasive view on the surface that the Atlans  
were either myth or stupid. In fact, they were neither. They were a  
nation of people who had almost eight thousand years to develop  
their technology and their arts with no interference from the  
surface. They were intelligent, highly educated and fiercely  
independent. They were a people who were proud of who they were and  
what they had accomplished. Living for countless generations  
underwater they had not only adapted, they had thrived. They would  
not be defeated easily.  
  
They had ships the surface had no concept of, with weapons and  
surveillance capabilities and methods of evading detection that were  
beyond the best imaginations of even the science fiction writers.  
  
The surface ships, the men and women in them would be sitting  
targets and there was nothing they could do about it. They wouldn't  
even know they were in danger until the ships were hit.  
  
Equally, they stood no chance at retaliation. The Atlan ships were  
equipped with devices and means that would make them invisible to  
any sonar or radar now in existence. That was how that American ship  
had been so easily destroyed. No one knew the Atlan ship was there  
or that it had stood quietly below the surface, a hundred fathoms  
down, while the rescue efforts had been underway.  
  
They had done nothing to impede the rescue, after pleadings from  
Garth that to hinder attempts to help would not only be inhumane,  
but a public relations disaster and one they would likely never  
recover from. It was the best he could come up with on short notice  
and luckily it seemed to work. It was one of the only concessions  
he'd managed from Arthur during the previous week.  
  
Even after the ship was damaged and starting to sink, the surface  
ships, even the satellites, had no way of detecting their attackers  
whereabouts. They could come and go at will.  
  
The surface navies had no way of knowing that every Atlan ship was  
coated with an surfacing that deflected any radar or sonar. They  
could be ten feet away and would be undetectable to the surface  
technology. It was one of the thousands of pieces of information  
that was listed as classified.  
  
No one of the surface knew.  
  
They might have suspected, but no one actually knew any more than  
they knew about the completely silent propulsion units on every ship  
built in an Atlan dockyard. No one could see them, no one could hear  
them. For all practical purposes they were invisible.  
  
They were also faster than any surface ship and could dive deeper.  
They were almost unstoppable.  
  
He turned as the door opened, two servants he hadn't seen before  
were coming towards him. They were older than he was, maybe in their  
mid-forties. He could see the armed guards standing outside,  
waiting. Assuming the royal mask he knew gave nothing away, he  
simply waited for them to say something.  
  
"Your Highness."  
  
He nodded, waited. With a nod to the guards, the second man closed  
the door. The three men were alone.  
  
"We trust that you are being treated well and that all your needs  
are being attended to?"  
  
"Yes, thank you." The two men exchanged a glance.  
  
"Is there anything that we could get for you or that would make your  
stay more comfortable?"  
  
"Thank you, I have everything I need." It was a lie, but they all  
knew that. It didn't matter. Asking had been a mere courtesy. It was  
time to cut to the chase.  
  
The taller man of the two moved closer, turning up the music that  
had been softly playing in the background, speaking softly enough  
that the sound wouldn't carry. The other man checked to make sure  
that the doors were secured and that they were as alone as they  
could hope for under the circumstances. "Forgive my speaking  
bluntly, My Lord, but time is short. We believe that you may not be  
in complete agreement with the course of action our government has  
decided on."  
  
Garth gave nothing away. He didn't know these men. They could be  
anyone. They could be working for Arthur. In his years living in the  
palace, he'd learned nothing if not discretion. Besides, he had  
assumed years ago that his quarters were bugged. He had assumed  
correctly.  
  
"I am, as I have always been, the King's man."  
  
The taller man spoke again, "As are we all, and as such we want only  
what's best for him and our nation."  
  
"Of course."  
  
"There is some feeling that you, your Highness, may be able to  
deflect some of what is happening...We all want only what is best for  
our people."  
  
They wanted him to somehow stop Arthur and they probably had some  
kind of idea of how to go about it. On the other hand, they could be  
working for Arthur and gathering a reason to have him executed to  
remove him as a rallying point for the factions who didn't support  
the current policy.  
  
"I would be pleased to speak with the King to see what course he has  
decided on, if he would be willing to share it with me."  
  
"With all respect, My Lord, we fear the King may be too consumed  
with his present course to give you his full attention."  
  
"And I take it that you have a proposal you wish me to consider?"  
  
"We do, My Lord. If you would be so gracious as to lend us your ear."  
  
"And His Majesty is aware that you are here speaking with me?"  
  
"We wouldn't further burden the King, Your Highness." So Arthur  
didn't know. "Sir, we are mere Councilors from the Outer Cities,  
hardly worthy of His Majesty's time when he is so busy. We were  
hoping that you might be able to convey our concerns and our  
suggestions for us. We know you have his respect, My Lord."  
  
"I see." They understood one another now. How had these guys gotten  
in? Were the guards working for them? Had they been bribed? Would  
they report back to Arthur? "But I fear that His Majesty may be too  
busy to speak with me, either. If that should be the case, have you  
other thoughts?"  
  
The odds that Arthur would agree to see him now were pretty remote,  
as these guys must have known.  
  
"We do, My Lord. We have a letter that has been prepared and signed  
by a good number of the representatives of the Cities. Perhaps you  
might present this to your many friends on the surface to make our  
position more clear. In a time like this, certain actions can so  
easily be—misunderstood."  
  
"And do you have this letter with you?"  
  
"My Lord, we do not as we would in no way wish to compromise your  
own safety. If a letter were found in your personal apartments, it's  
meaning could be misconstrued." In other words, he could be brought  
up on charges of treason and killed. Of course he could probably be  
killed just for listening to the men anyway.  
  
"It is the King's pleasure that I await his attention here in these  
rooms. I'm in no position to deliver a letter, or anything else, to  
anyone."  
  
"Indeed, My Lord. In times like these such things are not easily  
arranged, but there are ways, sir."  
  
"I've no doubt."  
  
"If such a message were to be sent, where might it have the  
attention we would hope it would receive?"  
  
There was a good chance that his speaking to these men would cost  
him his life. These men could be Arthur's, this could well be what  
Dick would call a set-up. If it was he knew that he'd be executed  
within twenty-four hours, just enough time for the charges and a  
mockery of a trial.  
  
On the other hand, he knew that he could probably count his life  
expectancy in days anyway, with what was going on. What did Dick  
say? Nothing ventured, nothing gained? That was it.  
  
"I would think that such a letter delivered to the Secretary General  
of the United Nations with a simultaneous release to the major news  
services for the surface would ensure it receiving the proper  
attention it would deserve." He stopped. Even suggesting that much  
was enough to implicate him a conspiracy. In fact the Justice League  
would be a good bet as well, but he didn't bother to mention it. It  
was too obvious. "Good, My Lords, you ask much. What proof have I  
that your desires are those that would be best for our nation?"  
  
The other man, the one who had been holding back, came closer. Close  
enough that Garth could see his eyes. They were purple, not as vivid  
as his own, but purple, never the less.  
  
"Your Highness, we both had the honor of friendship with His  
Majesty, your father and hold you—as do many others—as our true  
king. You are of the blood born and the throne is yours by right of  
law and custom. We would see you take the position you were bred to."  
  
"You flatter me, but my position on this is clear: I've no interest  
in any throne. I believe whatever talents I may have are better used  
as an Ambassador, not as a monarch."  
  
"Yes, My Lord and forgive me, your position has been stated often,  
however we must all serve the larger good and you are the true King,  
whatever your personal wishes may be."  
  
Garth looked at the two men. He knew there was a group who wanted  
Arthur gone and him on the throne in his place. He knew what his  
bloodlines were and where he stood in the line of succession. He  
also knew that his legal claim to the throne was significantly  
stronger than Arthur's and that fact was becoming common knowledge.  
It was not something he had ever really wanted known. He didn't want  
the throne, any throne and he knew that Arthur wouldn't hesitate to  
kill him if he thought that he'd accept one.  
  
King, Prince or servant, he was just a pawn in this, whatever the  
outcome ended up being.  
  
What he wanted was for this all to have been a nightmare and to wake  
up with Dick's arms around him in their own bed.  
  
There was a good chance that he wouldn't ever see Dick again.  
  
"Have you any news from the surface? How goes the war? What  
casualties?"  
  
There was a good chance that soon he'd be another causality.  
  
"Our blockades are still in place and there has been one large  
surface Naval ship sunk every day, each one in a different part of  
the world. Our own losses have been minimal as the surface navies  
seem unable to detect our ships." Of course they couldn't. Stealth  
and secrecy were among their best weapons. "The King refuses any  
negotiations and insists that this will continue until they accede  
to our demands."  
  
"Which are?"  
  
"Immediate and stringent pollution controls, acknowledgement of our  
borders and full political equality with access to all ports and  
inclusion in all relevant treaties, payment for injuries and birth  
defects and illness caused by ocean dumping. There are more, but  
those are the main points. And His Majesty demands that this all be  
enacted—or at least started— within two weeks."  
  
It would never happen. Never. It wasn't possible.  
  
"And if the surface nations don't accede?"  
  
"The sinkings will continue, one a day and the blockades will remain  
in place at most major ports. Ports not actually blockaded will be  
mined and off shore drilling rigs will be considered hostile and  
destroyed." And no one on the surface knew how to disarm Atlan mines  
or bombs.  
  
They might have had a chance at some concessions if they could be  
proved to be economically feasible for the surface nations, but they  
would never agree to these terms, not at gunpoint.  
  
Atlantis would be depth bombed back to the Stone Age first. If the  
surface Navy's couldn't stop the Atlan ships, they would try to  
destroy the cities. Atlantis would defend itself, but eventually  
they would be annialated. Even with their weapons and the safety of  
being a mile underwater, they would be vulnerable.  
  
Yes they had a number of other cities and not all of the exact  
locations were known on the surface, but their nation would still  
suffer tremendous losses, both in terms of causalities and damage  
and in loss of credence and ethics to the land nations.  
  
They had managed to survive, even thrive while the rest of the world  
believed them to be legend and out of reach. Now that they were  
real, not even their technology could withstand an extended assault  
by all the surface nations. And the surface nations would have good  
reason to need them stopped soon if worldwide shipping was now  
disrupted. The economies of most of the world's nations would be in  
serious trouble if it continued.  
  
And Garth believed with all his heart that most wars were based on  
economics.  
  
"And you wish me to become the rallying point for forces and  
factions you say are opposed to the King and our current situation?"  
Hell, the room was bugged, these men were probably working for  
Arthur and even if neither of those things were true, the chances  
that they would succeed in unseating the King and making the surface  
nations believe them were almost nonexistent.  
  
Garth knew that he was likely already sentenced to death on some  
trumped up charge or another. What difference would it make if he at  
least went down for his beliefs...better to be hung for the crime he  
commits then for the crime he didn't. Just the fact that he hadn't  
called the guards and had the men arrested when he knew why they  
were there would be enough to condemn him.  
  
What was the phrase Richard used? Oh yes—either way he was screwed.  
  
"What use can I be to you locked in here?"  
  
After Arthur was killed or otherwise disabled, along with his chief  
supporters, Garth would be put on the throne as a moderate voice. He  
would declare an end to hostilities and assume the Monarchy on a  
permanent basis.  
  
Their plan was for him to tape a message that would be smuggled out  
to the UN or the surface news agencies along with the letter signed  
by a large number of the councilors from the different cities. It  
would state that the war was not what Atlantis wanted, that there  
were forces which had been working against the King and that by the  
time the message was delivered, the situation would be contained.  
  
Garth was highly thought of and had a deep well of good will and  
support among the Atlan people. He also had the respect of the  
surface nations and he was well known to the surface leaders. They  
would make clear that he would be able to unite the cities, or at  
least most of them and Atlantis would come out of this stronger in  
the long run.  
  
If they succeeded.  
  
If he wasn't killed.  
  
"And what proof do I have that you are who you say?"  
  
The taller man came closer, pushing back his left sleeve. On the  
inside of his forearm was a tattoo of the crest of Garth's family,  
the one that was on the shields and their flag and any number of  
other places—in Shayeris. It had been banned everywhere else as part  
of Arthur's ongoing plan to marginalize Garth over the years.  
  
Of course, it proved nothing, it could all be part of a plan but he  
had nothing else to go on. The second man also approached, he, too  
had the tattoo.  
  
"We served your father, sir. We would serve you and see you in your  
rightful place."  
  
Gods, all his life he had dreaded the thought. His father had been  
murdered as king. Arthur was insane as king and he, he knew his duty  
and his responsibility but he didn't want it. He never had.  
  
It was inevitable.  
  
Yes, he would do it if he had to but he knew it would likely kill  
him one way or another. He would either be murdered one day or  
killed with stress and overwork.  
  
No matter. One life forfeit to stop a war was more than a fair  
bargain.  
  
Poor Richard. He would be forfeit, too. Their happiness would be  
forfeit.  
  
He had an idea. "Are you in contact with the surface? Is it possible  
to get a message out?"  
  
"It's difficult but it can be done."  
  
Garth went into his private sleeping chamber. Writing quickly he  
penned a letter to Richard. He would ask the men to deliver it. He  
would have to trust them since it was impossible for Arthur not to  
know that he'd been contacted by the peace coalition. He had no  
choice.  
  
He went back out the main chamber. "Deliver this to the person named  
on the envelope. If what I ask is done, then we may have a chance."  
  
The two men exchanged glances. "You will work with us, your  
highness?"  
  
The room was bugged. This was enough to have him killed.  
  
He was going to be killed anyway.  
  
He nodded, saying nothing the microphones could pick up and knowing  
that there were likely cameras recording his response anyway.  
  
Relieved, they bowed and signaled for the guards to let them  
out. "We'll do what you wish, sir."  
  
Back in Haven, Dick Grayson felt like he had been going quietly  
crazy. Garth was evidently under some kind of house arrest in  
Arthur's palace and Arthur himself was obviously nuts.  
  
They hadn't been able to contact one another at all since he'd been  
sent back and no one knew if he was even still alive, though Bruce  
and the others tried to reassure him that even Arthur wasn't crazy  
enough to kill a popular member of the blood royal when he was  
sitting on an unstable government.  
  
Two weeks now. That's how long it had been since it had all started  
and every night there was another report of some naval ship being  
blown up without warning. The ships destroyed were always military,  
never privately owned, though there were no guarantees that would  
last. Every night there were pictures on the news of sailors being  
rescued and of the ships going down in less than five minutes.  
  
For two weeks he'd slept alone in their bed and even though he knew  
it was selfish and almost childish—damnit—he wanted Garth back to  
hold him and make love to him and just smile that gentle smile he  
always had when they saw each other at the end of a long day.  
  
God, he missed Garth and he was so worried...  
  
He wanted to know that Garth was safe. Even if he couldn't come  
back, even if he had to stay in Atlantis for the rest of his life—  
just so long as he was safe.  
  
Ann, Garth's assistant had been a help for a while. They had tried  
to support each other, but it was wearing thin. Neither of them knew  
anything, neither of them knew what might happen. Once they had  
gotten past the obvious, they didn't have much to say to one another  
and so they had fallen apart pretty fast. They'd call every day or  
two, but it was always the same—no news.  
  
Dick had even been questioned by the State Department and the  
Department of Defense. They had wanted to know what he might have  
been told about the Atlantean defenses or their capabilities or  
anything that might be in any way useful. In fact he knew nothing  
they hadn't already heard. Garth would never divulge anything  
classified and little of anything else, not even to him.  
  
Whatever Garth brought home to work on had always been written in  
Atlan or encrypted. He never left anything lying around. He never  
shared anything about his work that went beyond pleasantries like  
who he'd had lunch with or that a speech seemed well received.  
  
Garth was too professional and too good to slip up like that.  
  
Then one day, almost two and a half weeks after the war had begun,  
Dick walked out of his precinct house to get lunch and saw the man  
watching him from across the street.  
  
He followed Dick into the diner and sat, without being asked, across  
from him in the booth. He was a tall man wearing a pair of khakis  
and a sports coat. He looked like he could be anyone.  
  
He was one of the men who had been in Garth's apartment at the  
palace a few days before. He had the letter the Prince had asked to  
be delivered.  
  
"Forgive me for my boldness. I thought it would be safer if I wasn't  
waiting outside your home." God, he had that accent. Dick loved  
Garth's accent.  
  
"Do I know you?"  
  
"We have a mutual friend. He's asked me to see that you get this."  
He slid the sealed envelope across the table.  
  
He put the envelope in his pocket without opening it. "Is our friend  
alright?"  
  
"He was two days ago, yes." The man got up to leave, smiling at the  
waitress. "I don't think you'll have to contact me about that, but  
if you should have any questions, you can reach me at this number."  
He put a business card by Dick's glass of water.  
  
The card just had a name and a phone number written on it. Nothing  
else. "Is there anything I can do to help?"  
  
The man smiled, slightly. "Thank you, but I believe that we have  
things under control, or will shortly." He walked out of the diner.  
  
Opening the letter--which had been written on Garth's personal  
stationary, the stuff with the crest on the top--he saw immediately  
that it looked like Garth's handwriting. There was no mistaking it...  
well, probably not.  
  
It was dated a few days ago.  
  
"Rob-  
  
I'm writing this in my chambers and you're not to worry about me.  
I'm fine. I'm unharmed.  
  
You are not to fear for my safety.  
  
I would like you to do something for me, though. Call Kal and his  
friends and see how they are. I meant to talk to them but had to  
leave suddenly and never got the chance.  
  
I have some friends here who think that they may be able to simplify  
things somewhat—I know they would like to try.  
  
I am hoping that things will be getting back to the same old boredom  
soon.  
  
I believe that, if giving the opportunity, my old co-workers may  
understand that this is a misunderstanding that can be righted if  
they'd be willing to sit down about it when I get back to them.  
  
I'm looking forward to it in fact, though there may be some things I  
have to do here first, possibly with those old friends.  
  
I think about you often and hope you haven't forgotten about me  
while I've been gone.  
  
With regards,  
  
G"  
  
What the fuc...?  
  
OK, he's under house arrest and wanted Dick to get the JLA to  
intervene and end this stupid war. Sure--that made sense. Bruce had  
said they'd been about ready to go in and see how nuts Arthur really  
was.  
  
His old co-workers--the UN, obviously. He wanted diplomatic help as  
well. He wanted to get back to the surface or somehow get a hold of  
them and make them understand that the Atlans wanted a cease fire-or  
at least a lot of them did.  
  
Old friends? Dick had no idea who the hell that could be except that  
guy who'd given him the letter couldn't be working alone and Garth  
must have trusted him enough to give him the letter.  
  
An internal coup? It sure as hell sounded like that.  
  
If he'd really written the letter.  
  
That was easy enough to check. He could do handwriting analysis and  
see what he could learn about the man he'd evidently entrusted to  
deliver the thing.  
  
Five minutes later he was talking to Bruce on the com link.  
  
"Well, it looks authentic to me, at any rate. The handwriting checks  
out and it's definitely Atlan paper and ink."  
  
"Do you think there's some sort of overthrow on their end being  
planned?"  
  
"It looks that way and they want JLA backup."  
  
"Will the JLA help?"  
  
Bruce was nothing if not decisive. "I'll talk to them, I'm sure they  
will. Arthur can't be allowed to continue this insanity much longer.  
The surface nations are looking into ways to blow Posidonis out of  
the water." Bruce paused for a short moment. "You do realize that if  
Arthur is removed then Garth is the next likely ruler down there—he  
won't be back up here."  
  
"I know. So does he. We'll deal with it."  
  
"Alright then. I'll call the JLA now." The line went dead.  
  
Things moved quickly after that. Almost too fast, judging by the  
reports that were filed later. Twenty-four hours later the JLA had  
gotten through the various security walls and made it through to the  
palace to find that things had, indeed been gotten under control.  
They walked into a situation that was essentially resolved. The JLA  
hadn't been needed after all and the announcement was broadcast over  
almost every station on the planet.  
  
It was Garth who spoke to the world.  
  
He was standing at a podium, calm, relaxed but professional and in  
obvious command.  
  
He was introduced as His Imperial Majesty. Lord and Liege of  
Atlantis and all of her Protectorates and Dominions, King Garth'.  
  
Like almost everyone else on the planet with access to a TV, Dick  
was watching.  
  
"I would like to start by making clear to the surface nations that  
earlier this morning I ordered all hostilities to cease immediately.  
I have recalled our forces and all blockades were ordered ended as  
of approximately one hour ago. All mines and bombs have been ordered  
disarmed. No surface ships will in any way be hampered and should  
there still be any surface vessels in need of assistance of any  
kind, our people will extend any and all aid. Official confirmation  
of these orders has been sent to every nation's leader and to the UN  
as well. Full verification by whatever means are considered  
acceptable will be met.  
  
I, and the nation of Atlantis, want it understood this conflict was  
implemented without warning, nor by general consent, by our former  
national leader, King Orin. Though he is essentially a good man and  
has been a capable and fair monarch for a number of years, it became  
increasingly clear to many of us that he is suffering an illness  
that caused him to perceive threats where there were none. We moved  
as quickly as was possible to contain the situation.  
  
He was removed from authority last night and is at this moment,  
unharmed and being giving the medical attention he requires. Our  
custom dictates that no punitive punishment will be exacted on him.  
He acted only in what he thought to be the best interests of our  
nation and we will allow no war crime charges of any kind to be  
leveled against him.  
  
The loss of life which was a direct result of his orders are  
something which will remain a dark shame in our nation and one we  
regret deeply. I have ordered that restitution be made to any  
families who have suffered loss and while I'm under no illusion that  
will in any way make what has happened right, we will do what we can  
to ease the pain of those who have suffered.  
  
Reparation will also be made to any nation for financial losses they  
may have suffered at our hands; ships will be replaced, cargo will  
be paid for."  
  
He paused for a space of several seconds.  
  
"On a more personal note; I've lived and worked on the surface for  
a number of years. Many of my closest friends—both personally  
in my own life and professionally in the diplomatic corps, are  
landsmen and the last few weeks have caused me tremendous anguish.  
The actions, this war are not things that Atlantis is proud of and  
it will be years—decades—before the damage is healed. I know that  
these friends haven't understood what was happening and for that I  
can only offer my deepest apologies that they couldn't be told and  
so were forced to come to their own conclusions.  
  
"There is much to keep me here now, much to do, but as soon as my  
duties permit I intend to return to the surface, if only for a  
visit, to explain this all in person and in more detail.  
  
"We, the people of Atlantis still want to ally with the surface  
nations. I still believe that there's much we can do together and  
will do everything in my power to make that happen.  
  
"Today, we start to begin again."  
  
Garth faded out to be replaced by one of the network's talking heads.  
  
"...That was extraordinary. I've never seen a head of state speak so  
openly and with so much seemingly genuine candor...We are getting  
reports that the blockades are indeed lifting, that ships are moving  
freely again...yes, another report that an Atlan ship in the Pacific  
is offering medical assistance to a damaged British destroyer..."  
  
Dick started dial twisting; it was the same of every channel. The  
war was really over.  
  
Garth was king.  
  
The computer chimed.  
  
"Dick? I have a secure relay call for you. You ready?"  
  
"Sure. Who is it?"  
  
"Who do you think?"  
  
Of course. The screen faded and reformed. "Garth. God—are you really  
OK?" He looked so tired. He looked like he'd never slept in his  
whole life.  
  
"I'm fine. I wasn't hurt and now I'm, I guess that I'm fine. Arthur  
had to be sedated and he's still under restrain. It was—difficult."  
  
Garth was king in Atlantis and he had a country to put back together  
and about fifty nations to placate. Dick could hardly ask when he  
was coming home. He was home. Atlantis was home for him now. "I—I  
miss you. I was worried and..." God, he was talking in trite clichés.  
  
"I know. I, look, I can't come up to the surface for a while.  
There's too much to do here, but could you come down here? Would you  
be able to do that?"  
  
He'd swim if he had to. "Of course. When?"  
  
"I'll arrange a ship for you as soon as I can. I'll call your State  
Department; ask them to let you travel. I think it's still forbidden  
for Americans."  
  
"I'm half Rom. I can travel on that passport." Anything, just so he  
could see for himself that Garth was alright and touch him, hold him  
again.  
  
"Good." He paused again. He looked so damn tired. "I need you here."  
  
"...As your consort?"  
  
"As my friend and lover. I'll order the ship now. It will be there  
by morning. And Rob? Plan on staying for a while."  
  
6/1/04


	2. Conclusion

Title: The Dogs of War Part Three of Three 

Author: Simon

Pairing: Dick Grayson/ Garth

Rating: PG-13

Summary: Cleaning up after the war with the surface

Warnings: none

Disclaimers: These guys aren't mine, they don't belong to me, worst luck, so don't bother me.

Archive: Fine, but if you want it, please ask first.

Feedback: Hell, yes. 

**Dogs of War**

**Part Three**

The war between the surface nations—or a good percentage of them—and the Sovereign Realm of Atlantis had been declared over with all hostilities officially ended two days ago. Though the Atlans had suffered almost no losses, the various surface navies had lost almost twenty ships with the dead numbering over seven thousand and almost as many casualties. Beyond that, the weeks of embargo and blockade against almost all surface ports and shipping had wreaked havoc with shipping and the losses were in the billions.

King Orin had been removed from the throne and placed under secure medical observation. Garth was now ruler in his place.

Dick Grayson had been contacted the day before by some man at the U.S. State Department—yes, Dick had him checked out by Barbara before he agreed to anything—and had been told that safe passage had been arranged for him by His Majesty, King Garth and that he would be escorted within the hour to Gotham Harbor where he would be met by an Atlan ship ready to transport him to their capitol city. The State Department would be grateful for any insight he may have on the situation.

He had politely deferred a comment on that but has assured them that he had no political affiliation with the Atlan government. His only connection with the nation was a personal one.

Bruce had gone ballistic when he'd heard, insisting that Dick was being sucked into the politics of the whole international mess; that Garth was using him for his own agenda and that for him to agree to the extended visit was a mistake, a major one and he was allowing himself to become a political pawn.

Dick said he was going anyway—and he'd be careful. Bruce had been, well, he'd been less than appeased. That particular bridge wasn't exactly burned, but it was a bit singed.

No one on the Atlan ship had spoken to him for the hours it had taken them to get where they were going, though they had been perfectly polite and deferential despite that little short coming—well OK, Dick conceded that maybe they couldn't speak English. He had been shown to a private cabin and left in peace to read or nap. He had been offered food. Finally, using mostly hand gestures, he gathered that they had arrived and that he should get ready to go.

Dick stepped off the side of the ship onto the dock—or as Garth would have said, 'he disembarked from the entry port onto the quay'.

Whatever.

Garth wasn't there to meet him.

He was standing in an area that was dry. He was over a mile under water and they had arranged for him to step off the boat onto a dry floor. That was Garth's doing. It had to be. Or, as he thought to himself, 'duh', of course that was Garth's doing.

One of the few really concrete things Garth had told him about his home was that while most of the cities areas were flooded, there were some sections; some rooms and chambers that were kept dry. They had found it came in handy for any number of things and when they had decided to open trade with the surface it was pretty obvious that the dry rooms would be used a lot for the necessary back and forth. Maybe that had been the plan all along, Dick didn't really know though he was starting to appreciate that the Atlans were good at appearances and manipulation when they had reason to be. In fact one of the first surface visitors had been Robert Ballard and a few of his colleagues for a big dinner designed to showcase just how advanced and civilized the Atlans really were. Of course, that had been almost a year ago, before Arthur went nuts.

Everyone had been suitably impressed.

Garth had also mentioned that some of the dry areas were used as training rooms for Atlans who would be going up to the surface. Well, fine. That would make things easier, which made sense.

Judging by the number of armed guards, it was clearly a security area despite the number of people around, and Dick was intimidated by the military feel to the place, the coldness that was both physical and otherwise, the feeling that if he tried to open the wrong door or walked down the wrong hallway it would be a real big mistake.

He walked forward a little hesitantly to have his hand gently shaken and his arm carefully taken by Marcus, Garth's assistant from the UN. Happy to see a familiar face and a smile, Dick took his hand with some relief. He knew Garth relied on him pretty heavily and he had always seemed to be a pretty decent guy. "Mr. Grayson, we're grateful that you could come here on such short notice, especially after all that's happened in the last few weeks. It's good of you to do this for us." Marcus was leading him to a doorway, nodding at a couple of the people they passed. The guards and the various workers looked at Dick with open curiosity, but said nothing.

He wasn't doing this visit for them. He was doing it for Garth. "I'm glad to be of any help that I can." They were walking down a wide corridor lined in what looked like centuries old tapestries telling God knew what story. "Would it be possible for me to see Gar…His Majesty or is he busy?" Of course he's busy, you nit. He's a king and he's trying to unscrew the screw-ups of this stupid war he'd just ended.

"He's asked that you be brought to him as soon as you arrive, sir. We're going to him now—ah, forgive me. Perhaps you would you like to change first or get settled into you quarters before you meet with the King?"

His quarters? Wasn't he staying in Garth's room? "No, thank you. I'd just like to see him, if that's possible."

"The ship brought you directly to the palace dock, sir, we'll be at the conference room in just a minute."

Dick noticed that Marcus, usually pretty laid back when they'd met a few times in New York was much more formal now, more reserved. Well, that's only natural. It had hardly been a relaxing few weeks for them down here. From what Dick had been told, Garth and his staff had been placed under virtual arrest and were probably lucky to have escaped execution. Besides, Marcus was now the assistant to a King establishing a new reign—or whatever it was called, not just an ambassador. It was a whole new ballgame for everyone.

Marcus tried to make some small talk, asking about his trip in and trying to put Dick more at ease. It wasn't easy, but he was making an effort. They were about to turn down another hallway when Dick slowed down and asked quietly, "Hey, Marcus, I know there's a lot you can't talk about, but is he alright?"

Marcus stopped walking, regarded Dick for a second. "His Majesty has been working very hard, sir. He knows that in all likelihood what he does these next few months will determine the course of our nation and of our people for a long time to come. It is…a difficult position to be in."

So Garth was tired and stressed and feeling like the whole ocean was on his shoulders.

"I'll do whatever I can to help." Anything, he'd do anything. Talk, sex, entertain, act as a sounding board, offer opinions, sex; anything Garth needed.

Marcus smiled. "That was what I was praying you'd say. The King is, well he is our hope, you see. King Orin is a good man but a hard one. He was respected but—forgive me—he is not loved by the people. King Garth is a good man and he is loved for his kindness as well as his talents and he is greatly respected for the adversities he had to overcome. He always has been greatly loved by the people, though I doubt he believes that. His happiness is important to us." He smiled a little. "We know what we have in him, you see."

They stopped in front of a large door guarded by two armed men. Marcus said something to them, which Dick couldn't understand, but which made them stand aside and, knocking twice, opened the door. It was a conference room of some kind, now filled with about twenty people all busy trying to clean up the mess Arthur had made.

Garth was standing, along with half a dozen people, half bent over a large table that was covered in maps and what were probably treaties. His back was to the door and he hadn't seen them come in. Rolls of faxes were taking up one end of the workspace. The people were all intent on whatever they were studying and there seemed to be some sort of heated discussion between a couple of what Dick assumed to be more aides or councilors or some kind. He didn't recognize any of the advisors, or whatever they were. Over against the far wall was another group of people, these all on phones and speaking a dozen different surface languages to whoever was on the other end of the lines.

Marcus carefully cleared his throat. "Forgive me, Your Majesty."

"Yes, what is it?" His voice mild, Garth didn't turn around, still looking at a map of what appeared to be some part of the pacific.

"Your guest has arrived, sir."

Garth looked at Marcus for maybe half a second before turning around and straightening to his full height, his back to the rest of the room and his aides. Dick stood still, unsure of the etiquette and let Garth set the tone. The smile on his face was relief, joy, love—and all hidden from his staff. "If you will excuse me, ladies and gentlemen." The others looked at what was going on—Dick got the instant impression that they hadn't had any kind of a break since they'd gained power and declared peace—and exchanged looks with one another. The aides may not have ever met the King's lover, but it was obvious they'd heard of him.

"Mr. Grayson, how good of you to come so far to see us." Garth was in formal mode, gesturing but not touching, he led Dick back through the door he'd just entered, down a hallway and up some stairs to another door with another set of guards who stood aside as they approached, holding the door open for them to go through, pulling it closed behind them.

Garth's private rooms. The entire suite was in the dry part of the palace, as had all the sections Dick had been in so far.

The door closed silently behind them. Saying nothing, immediately they put their arms around one another, hugging, feeling the solid warmth and reassuring each other that they were really together again, that they were still alive and well.

Dick could feel the tension in Garth's muscles, in his back and shoulders. The lines of worry and exhaustion were etched on his face, his eyes were shadowed. Gently he pulled slightly back, getting a close look, his hands tracing the familiar planes of Garth's cheekbones and jaw in their own silent question and answer. Dick saw the effects of the last few weeks written clearly. Garth was close to his limit. His being asked to come down here wasn't just a whim or frivolous. He was needed. Garth was the only one who could put together what had been broken and if having his lover here to take away some of the tension was necessary, then so be it. He'd stay as long as he was needed.

In the last month or so Garth had been virtually kidnapped at gunpoint from his office in the UN, transported against his will back to Poseidonis, kept prisoner—probably under threat of his life—been somehow involved in a takeover coup against his mentor, his King, the man who at least nominally raised him, been upgraded to King and was now trying to salvage his nation and his race.

Christ, no wonder he looked like he was hanging on by his fingernails. And being Garth, other than him looking like he might need a couple of good night's sleep, no one who didn't know him well would have any idea of the toll it was taking on him.

"So, how you been?"

That brought a ghost of a smile. "Ducky."

"You look like shit." Dick could say that to Garth, no one else could. And if Dick said it, Garth knew it was true.

"Your being here will help, maybe not in my getting any rest, but it will relieve some of the stress." The invitation was clear.

"Need some stress relief now?"

Somewhere a bell sounded what was probably the time. A moment later there was a discrete knock at the door. "Come." Another aide or something came in. Garth dropped his arms from Dick, moving a discreet two feet away.

"Forgive the intrusion, Your Majesty, but the President of the United States is on a conference call with the Prime Minister of Great Britain. They're waiting for you, sir."

Without the slightest hint of either his frustration or exhaustion, Garth simply asked that it be patched through to his quarters. Turning to his desk when the phone made some chiming sound, Dick ceased to exist for the next twenty minutes while Garth calmly undid some more of the mess.

Trying to stay out of the way, Dick walked into the inner room, Garth's bedroom, and looked for something to do—a book to read or something. There were walls of books, hundreds of them. Everything was in Atlan. Sitting on top of what seemed to be some kind of a dresser was a copy of Garth's favorite picture of Dick—one taken a year or more ago on a beach. He was laughing at something Garth had said and after he had clicked the snap they had gone into the water to explore and make love.

It had been a good day, one of the best they'd had and that was saying something. It had been their first real vacation together, just the two of them. It was the first time they had really confirmed how well they were matched to one another, how well they got along, how much they wanted to be together. It had been the stuff of dreams.

Garth found Dick sitting on the edge of the bed, still idly holding the framed picture. He sat beside him, kissing the side of his neck, nuzzling.

"When was the last time you had a full night's sleep?"

"Asked the kettle of the pot? When was your last full night?" Garth was trying to turn it into a joke. Dick wasn't biting.

"You can't work if you fall over. We're both tired; take a nap with me?"

One of the first real expressions of actual annoyance Dick had ever seen on Garth's face surprised him. "You're not my mother and I don't need a nursemaid. If that's why they called you down here, don't bother."

Stunned by the real anger, Dick withdrew, his arm dropping down to Garth's waist, holding lightly. "It's just that I'm worried about you. I've been worried since this started and…"

"And Marcus and whoever else called you and told you that I needed looking after. Is that it?"

"…They know—they all know that you're the reason this war is settled—or will be. They're all, they want to help you, make all of this easier for you if they can. If I can. You're king now." The though gave Dick pause. He'd probably never get used to that. "You're important and…"

"And if my lover is here, if I get laid then I'll be easier to deal with and a bit more 'relaxed'. Is that it?"

"Jesus, you know that's not it. I love you. I want to help you. I don't have an hidden agenda."

"Then you're the only one." He stopped. This wasn't like him, proof of what he'd been through. "I'm sorry." His voice was low. "I never wanted this. You know that. I never wanted to be king."

Dick was looking at the floor, a mosaic of different colored stones set in some kind of circular pattern that seemed to swirl. "I know, but it's…"

"What I was born to do. I know." They weren't touching now, Dick had removed his arm and Garth was rigid, defeated, exhausted, his arms hanging at his sides. "You know that this is forever, don't you? It's the only way that it works. I can't resign or retire or hand this over to someone else. The only way out for me is death."

"Arthur was removed." He saw the look on Garth's face. "I didn't mean that. I just mean that there are ways if you really want out. After the problems with the surface are settled, you could hand this over to regents or something. You could assign yourself an heir or, I don't know, there must be some kind of provisions."

Garth sighed in what sounded like exasperation. "You're not understanding. This is why I was conceived and born. This is why I exist, to fill this position. Everything in my life has been aimed at this. It's my reason for being." He paused a moment, trying to see if Dick understood what he was saying. "The misperception is that being a king means that you're in charge, that whatever you want is yours with just a word or a wave of the hand. The truth is that I'm more bound than any servant here and it's a life sentence without parole. I'm here to serve. I serve my country and my people. Part of the ceremony, the coronation ceremony, is my putting on a ring. I literally marry my country and there's no divorce. I become the physical embodiment of my people and my nation. I have power, of course, but I'm tied by millennia of tradition and law. I cease being me, being 'Garth' and become this entity called 'The King'." He gave Dick a half smile. "Technically you're not even allowed to touch me."

"Because…?"

"My person is sacred and you're a commoner." A beat. "I could be persuaded to make an exception for you, though. I could knight you or something, maybe give you a title—that would soften the effect."

Dick didn't see the humor, or at least he didn't acknowledge it. "You can't ever come back to the surface?"

"On a state visit, possibly even on a personal holiday, but then only with bodyguards and a entourage and I'd still have to come back here. I have to remain a visible symbol for the people and the nation." He caught the facts sinking in for Dick. "It's not that bad, not all the time. I can move the government into a more liberal position on a lot of things and because we're relatively small, I can come and go pretty much at will down here. I even have a sort of open house once a week so that anyone in the kingdom who has a problem can come and talk to me about it. Sometimes I can help."

Dick was looking at the floor again. There were a lot of different colors in it. "So that's it? I mean I don't want to sound like a jerk here, but you have to pretty much stay here and I, well, I guess that's it for us, isn't it?"

Garth took his hand, caressing and bringing it to his mouth, kissing the knuckles. "We knew this could happen sooner or later. It's just happened sooner than we thought it would."

God. Dick's mind was trying to figure something out, anything that would make it be different than it was. "I could stay here. You said it's not a big deal being gay here. I could stay with you. There are a lot of parts of the place that are dry and you could do that spell so I could breathe down here. It would be fine…"

"Rob…and do what? Live in my shadow? Walk two steps behind? Leave everything and everyone on the surface? Quit your job, hang up Nightwing?" He shook his head. "You know you don't want that."

"I know I want you, though."

Garth sighed. "I know." He paused. "You're here now, for a while?" Dick nodded. "Good. First I'll have your things moved here from whatever guestroom they've assigned you to. Then I'll show you around so you can get your bearings, meet some people. You already know a few—Marcus, Xan is here for another day or two before he goes back up to the surface. Most people here don't speak English, so I'll get someone to translate for you and you can start to learn Atlan if you want."

God, he was always planning, organizing. Sometimes it made Dick tired just to listen to him. "Garth, first, before all of that, can we make love?"

Garth smiled, lifted his own shirt off. "I was trained to supposedly have perfect manners—being a good host and all of that. You're not just being polite here, are you? Being a good guest?" He removed Dick's shirt next, letting his hands trail down the length of Dick's shoulders and chest as he did so, feeling the skin jump as his fingertips glided over and down. "I wouldn't want you to feel obligated."

They were kissing, their arms around one another, fallen back onto the bed and starting to twine around one another, jeans and leggings gone. Garth rolled them over so that he was looking down at the astoundingly beautiful face, the features which never ceased to amaze him. There was an old belief in Atlantis which had been passed on to the ancient Greeks, the one that perfection offended the Gods as only a god could ever hope to attain it, but to Garth, Dick came as close as one could.

He could feel the familiar stroking down the muscles of his back, taste Dick's mouth, hear the soft sounds they were both making. He began to position himself so that in moments he would be inside feeling the heat and the friction, the welcome and the knowledge that they were really, finally together. He started to feel the pressure and the anticipation, heard the gasp of pleasure tinged with the slight pain from Rob as he started the slow push…

The words were in Atlan. "Forgive me, Your Majesty. My complete apologies, but the president of France is returning your call and we thought that you might prefer to take it in here, if that meets with your approval."

"Please tell him that I will be with him shortly." His voice sounding normal, the response completely ignored what they were doing or that they had been interrupted.

"Of course, Your Majesty." The man withdrew, the door closing soundlessly behind him.

Looking down at Robbie beneath him, feeling the hardness between them become soft, Garth almost, but not quite, burst out laughing. Dick just looked chagrinned, annoyed and frustrated. "Do you want to finish?"

"Jesus, Garth, haven't your servants heard of knocking? We were…Jesus."

"They are completely discrete. He saw nothing."

"Except your ass about to pound me into the mattress."

"I've told you before, we're not prudes. I'm sure he's seen it before somewhere or other. Besides, we stopped believing kings were gods centuries ago, he knows I'm as human as the next man." Dick really was upset and, truth be known, Garth wasn't all that happy about it himself though for different reasons. "I'll make sure that from now on no one enters without express invitation." The mood was completely broken; there was no point in trying to continue just now. Later would have to do if they could, if they weren't interrupted again.

Garth understood, if Dick didn't, that his life was no longer his own.

He kissed Dick gently, with apology. Pushing away, rolling off Dick, Garth pulled on a robe and went to his private desk in a far niche of the outer room. Speaking into some kind of phone, he was patched through to the French President. Speaking in fluent French, Garth did his best for twenty minutes to diffuse the strains between the two countries, reassuring the man that debts would be paid and that the new Atlan administration was only interested in repairing whatever damage had been done both to surface ships and to relations between the various people's.

When he finally returned to the bedchamber, Dick was looking through a personal projection device similar to a photo album, but looking more like a palm pilot. The images were of Garth and Arthur when they were both younger, Tula was there, smiling and hugging Garth. There were formal pictures, obviously posed, of a royal looking couple—probably Garth's parents or something. He sat back on the edge of the bed, next to his lover, watching Dick thumb through his life.

"You've seen those before, haven't you?" Garth was now dressed again and back in his formal, professional mode. Dick was still naked and for some reason it made him a little self-conscious. Maybe it was where he was since it had never bothered him before.

Dick shook his head. He hadn't and he hadn't known that Garth was a better looking version of his father and that his mother had been what Grace Kelly would have looked like if she were even more beautiful. No wonder Garth looked the way he did. With those two as parents the deck was stacked pretty high in his favor.

"I have to go back to the conference room, but I'll send Marcus back to show you around. We can have dinner in a couple of hours if that's alright with you."

As if he had a choice. "Sure, sounds great." Garth caught the tone of his voice and gave him a look. They both knew what he was trying to do and what all depended on him getting it right. The two of them being together as a couple simply didn't register on the radar right now.

"I'm sorry, Rob. I know this is terrible for you." He kissed Dick's bare shoulder then laid his head there for a moment. "Later, I'll make sure we're not disturbed." Kissing Dick's cheek and with his mind already on the chaos he was trying to sort out, he left to get back to work. He turned away, but caught himself, "I almost forgot." Putting his hand on Dick's neck he leaned close enough for them to kiss again before he had to leave.

Inside of ten minutes Marcus was knocking on the outer door. Dick, dressed again in his jeans and a tee shirt let him in.

"I understand you'd like a tour?"

"Gar... The King thinks it would be a good idea if I know my way around." Marcus nodded. Sure, he should know where things were but it was a time killer and they both knew it.

They were headed down a corridor to wherever it was Marcus was taking him. It was fascinating, of course, but Dick was a lot more concerned about Garth than he was about ancient art and architecture. "His Majesty is glad that you're here. I see the difference already. He's happier, more relaxed. This is what we hoped for." Dick didn't answer. It wasn't what he had hoped for, but he had just arrived and the situation wasn't what you'd call a vacation for anyone involved. In fact, so far it ranked up there with bamboo shoots under his nails for fun.

Dick couldn't think of an answer for that which wouldn't be insipid. He opted for changing the subject. "Have you spoken to Ann since all of this happened?" Garth's main secretary/assistant back at the UN. Marcus' main surface squeeze.

"She seems to understand that I'll be working down here for the foreseeable future. We were both prepared for that happening sooner or later, I'm sure that she's fine."

One of the characteristics of the Atlan mentality Dick had noticed was an almost complete lack of sentimentality. Dick had noticed it with Garth but had thought it was just his response to the way he'd been raised or just his basic personality. That picture album was an anomaly. To hear Marcus dismiss Ann with a throwaway sentence seemed needlessly cruel, though. Dick knew that she had fallen for Marcus when they had worked together in New York and it had seemed mutual. Well, maybe not. Maybe for Marcus she was just a diversion—or maybe he was just defensive.

They passed by the main conference room, staterooms, the throne room, the royal library, the art galleries, the docking areas, the gardens. Marcus stopped in each area, explaining, answering any questions, giving history and how the events of the war with the surface had played out where they were walking. He told Dick how Arthur had been taken, gently and seemingly with relief, restrained, sedated. The population had never supported the war and was overjoyed to have it ended so quickly and decisively. He told Dick how the royal guards had immediately supported Garth, how he had been hailed as a hero and savior of the city and the nation. His poll numbers were astronomical and he was greatly loved both as a king and for himself.

Garth was whom they had been waiting for and his people would do whatever it took to make sure they kept him. His coming had been foretold by their legends. He had been expected and now he would lead them into the future.

Dick had wondered if Marcus really believed that or if he was toting the party line, though he had the sense not to ask. Sure, Marcus and Garth's staff supported him and liked him and all of that, but what about the other cities? What about the priests who had ordered his death when he was born? Weren't they still around? What about the ones who had some complaint with—well, with whatever they had complaints with? Sure, his own people were happy to have him on the throne, but what about everyone else?

"Where is Lady Mera?" Dick had been wondering about that. He barely knew the woman, but she could be a powerful enemy if she decided to withhold her support from Garth and his new government.

"She is tending to the former king. We're assured that she'll do nothing to impede our progress. She's sworn her allegiance to the new King."

Well, maybe. Mera would follow her own agenda, whatever it was. She always did.

Walking down the various corridors, through the many rooms, Dick noticed the looks he was getting from the people they passed. It was all subtle, nothing obvious, but he was being watched, pointed out and he knew that the moment he and Marcus moved to the next chamber, they were asking questions, forming opinions about the king's surface bit of entertainment. He felt like a circus freak stared at by the townies—something he thought he'd put behind him when he was eight years old.

"This is one of the things the King thought you might enjoy, Mr. Grayson." They were passing through a doorway into a garden of indescribable beauty. It was planted with flowers and plants unknown on the surface—or at least unknown to Dick. There were winding paths, secluded alcoves, strategically placed benches. It was wonderful and he started wondering if they would be able to make love here some night when they were alone and Garth could dismiss his guards. Maybe. They would both like that. It had been too long and they needed to reconnect.

"Will people down here accept us being together? Will it make any problems for the king?" The title almost stuck in his throat, but from now on, that's who Garth was in public—get used to it, kid.

"As I mentioned, Mr. Grayson, the King is important to us, therefore anyone who matters to him becomes important to us. As we wish for his happiness, you are accepted." They walked a couple more steps. "You have concerns?"

Not that he was about to confide in Marcus, no. "Only the obvious ones."

"Then you shouldn't be worried. No one will criticize in any way. The fact that you're a landsman may well stand us in good stead for rebuilding international relations now that the war is ended."

Uh-huh. Dick was dubious, at best, but there was no point in getting into this here and now. And Dick wasn't about to bother Garth about anything like this, not now.

"Will I be allowed to contact friends on the surface while I'm here?"

"Really, Mr. Grayson; you're not a prisoner. I should think you could contact anyone you'd like." Another turn down another passageway. "I understand that you were approached by some of your government's representatives during the war, Mr. Grayson. It's fortunate that you were kept unaware of anything that could be a breach to either country's national security. I hope that you weren't in any way inconvenienced by that."

"No, it wasn't any big deal. They just asked me some questions then left me alone."

"You do know that you were watched, of course."

"You mean during the war? I assumed as much."

"Yes, during the war of course but before as well. Your apartment was under surveillance for the last three years, ever since you and the King became close. Surely you knew that?" They were strolling through the garden, crossing to some other part of the palace.

"Garth and I were spied on?"

Marcus smiled, laughing quietly. "Of course you were. At the time he was a foreign prince with a claim to the throne as well as being Ambassador to your country. You are a citizen of the United States. There were obvious areas for concern there. You must have known. The King expressed his annoyance about it to me several times…you didn't know?"

Dick shook his head, feeling like an idiot. Of course they were watched. How could they not have been?

"I suppose he was trying to prevent you from worrying." They went in another door. Dick had no idea where they were. And Garth hadn't let him know that they were being watched? God, that was so damn like Garth to keep something like that to himself so he could just go about his day-to-day life without a thought. Of course Bruce had to have known about it as well, damnit. Bruce knew everything.

And come to think about it, he had personally swept the apartment for bugs at least a dozen times and come up with nothing. What was that about? He knew he couldn't have missed any CIA or FBI taps or bugs. They had to have come from Atlantis. Marcus hadn't said who was bugging them. Fucking Arthur.

"Ah, and here we are back at the main conference room." The guards stood aside, eyes flicking to look at Dick. Marcus opened the door and they were in the room where Dick had first seen Garth, who was now speaking with a couple of his flunkies about whatever they were talking about. Finishing his conversation he smiled openly at Dick.

"Good, perfect timing. I'm just finished. Thank you, Marcus. Rob? I need a break. Let's…" He gestured with his hand and they left. "Are you starting to get your bearings?"

Waiting until they were out of the main room and walking down the hallway, relatively alone and speaking in English, Dick finally responded. "Yeah—were you ever going to tell me that there were bugs in the apartment? And why the hell were they there?"

They were headed back to Garth's rooms. "I assumed you knew." He seemed completely oblivious about any intrusion or breach of their privacy or any of that. "By law any member of the royal family has to have bodyguards and security around them at all times."

"Because of the succession?"

"Of course. If I were kidnapped or something there could be a blackmail attempt against the government."

"So everything we said and did was transmitted back to Arthur?"

"Why did you think I always had the TV on or music playing? It helped confuse the mics." They got to where they were going. "I did remove the equipment from the bedroom and the bathroom."

"But we fucked on practically every square inch of that place."

Garth smiled. "Yes, we did. I think we should christen this place as well, don't you?"

"Jesus, Garth, how can you be so nonchalant about this?"

Garth had led him to the large bed—larger than the one they shared in 'Haven—and was removing his lover's shirt, followed by the rest of his clothing as well as his own. "Because it didn't matter. Honestly, it didn't, Rob. I've been living with security since I was seven. After a while you learn to ignore it, besides, it was a tradeoff with the council. They allowed me to dispense with live in, twenty four hour body guards if we had some taps in the house."

"And you never mentioned this to me?"

He kissed Dick's mouth, trying to silence him and change the subject. "I don't want to talk about this right now. I want to make love."

Garth could do that, just turn off one subject and switch to another. Dick never could. "Well, I want to talk about this."

"Rob…" He was pressing Dick onto the mattress, climbing on top and starting to work his way down the strong neck to the collarbones, kissing, licking, nibbling. "I want to make love…be inside of you…feel you come with me…" His hands, his long, strong fingers were caressing Dick's skin, up and down his ribs, slowly, one at a time, his legs pressing between Dick's thighs.

"Are you sure one of your servants isn't going to walk in?"

"I left orders that I'm not to be disturbed." He was kissing Dick's jaw, up to his cheekbones.

"Are we being watched?"

Another gentle kiss. "No."

"Cameras?"

"No."

"No microphones?"

"Shhh." He leaned in for another, deeper kiss, wanting to get past talking and onto other things, but…

"I can't believe that you knew we were being watched and never said anything to me for like three years. I can't believe…"

The mood was broken. Garth rolled onto his side, facing Dick, one hand resting on his lover's stomach, head propped up on the other. His voice, as always, was quiet, calm. "And how could you not have known, if you want to come down to it. You've been trained by the finest detective on the planet, you're a police officer in your own right and you knew that you were living with and having an affair with not only a foreign ambassador but also a senior member of a ruling Royal family. How could you not think that your own State Department would have us watched—as well as my own foreign office? You had to have known if you'd given it any thought whatsoever."

"Don't start with that. Don't try to throw this onto me." Dick was angry—angry at everything that had happened, angry that the life they'd built together was gone, that they would never just be able to be themselves again. He watched Garth get off the bed, standing against a bureau maybe six feet away, just waiting for Dick, waiting for him to catch his breath and marshal his thoughts. From now on they would be 'The King and his Consort'. There would always be guards outside the door, always be people watching them whenever they stuck their heads out of the private rooms. If they ventured up to the surface, either together or alone, they would be followed by reporters and security and…he wanted it to be the way it was just a month ago when they could just be themselves and no one cared.

"Dick, Rob—what did you think it would be like?" The question was quiet, no belligerence in it, just a simple question.

Christ. That was the problem; he hadn't given it all that much thought. He'd been living with Garth for three years and had managed to shove any thoughts of the reality of his existence right out the door and turned the lock on them. Of course he knew about all the things Garth had just said—he just didn't want to. He never had and, frankly, he still didn't really want to.

He'd even known that at some point—in an unspecified, ambiguous future—that Garth would have to resign his work with the Titans, give up his ambassadorship and go home to be a prince or a king or whatever. He knew this. He did. They had never discussed it, but he'd known.

Garth had known. In fact, he probably could have given some kind of a timetable if he'd had to.

He wanted to go back to their apartment and just be Garth and Dick again. He wanted them to be Nightwing and Tempest again.

Instead they were His Majesty and Mister Grayson with guards at the door—at every door they were behind, in fact. Garth had grown up with guards. It was second nature to him.

And what was the alternative? Never see one another again other than in some formal setting? Make polite small talk at some state dinner?

Garth had lived on the surface for years, had fit in as well as he could into a culture that was as foreign to him as though he'd walked onto Mars. Okay, now it was Dick's turn to deal. That was the only alternative, at least for now.

Maybe not forever, no, but hell, talk about it being the least he could do. When you came down to it, their day-to-day life wouldn't be all that different than on the surface—yeah, well, sort of. They would each have their work to do every day, they would share an apartment, they would be lovers and have that together. And the fact was that Garth's work was important, both to his own people and the surface nations. It was—and Dick could help him, make the work go smoother.

But what work would he have? What the hell would he do all day while Garth was ruling the nation?

Aye, there's the rub. He couldn't—wouldn't just be an appendage. He needed something substantial to do. He couldn't deal with all of this without it. They'd talk about this, they would. They'd come up with something—hell, it wasn't like he was completely without resources.

"God, Garth, I'm sorry." He sat up, facing the man he'd promised years ago to stand by and help. He'd said that years ago and he'd meant it. Now it was time to put up and follow through or go home. "I am. I'm sorry. You've been dealing with—everything; ending the war and Arthur flipping out and trying to clean up this whole fucking mess and I've been whining and complaining about—God, I'm sorry." He held out his hand, Garth moved forward a couple of paces and took it, sitting on the edge of the bed, fingers still laced, legs barely touching. "I guess I knew that we were being watched. I did. I just didn't want to think about it."

"It won't be that bad. It's just getting used to everything right now—for both of us. After a couple of weeks this will all be easier."

Dick nodded. Garth was right. He was. In a few weeks, maybe a month…

"You said that you'd be here for a while—like a week, a month—a year? What were you talking about?"

Oh, God. How long? Forever? He didn't want to live here for the rest of his life. Of course he wanted to be with Garth, but move to Atlantis? Leave everyone, leave the surface and everything familiar to live a mile underwater. Even living with Garth that would be, God, that would be…

"And I've been thinking; you could be a help to me here, if you're willing." He seemed afraid that Dick might actually turn him down.

"How…?"

"You know more about security than anyone here. We've always been so isolated that we simply haven't much need for it, but now with the change of Head of State and the war and landsmen coming down here for negotiations and educational and scientific and cultural exchanges, well, we need a lot more of that sort of thing. If you'd be willing, you could have a major say in that. And when I have to go up to the surface, I'll need some kind of security detail, you could make sure that it's not oppressive; you know what I'm willing to put up with." He looked hopefully at Dick. "I need your help, Rob."

And he was making up a job to keep him busy and out of trouble, Dick knew that and Garth probably knew that he knew. It didn't matter.

"How long were you thinking about staying down here?"

Yeah, well, he wasn't sure. Dick hadn't actually set any kind of a timetable or anything. "As long as you need me here, I guess."

"That's too easy an answer, Rob. What about your job on the surface? What about your friends there and Bruce and Alfred? You're surely not thinking that this is a permanent move, were you?" Please, by all the Gods, say yes. "You can always go back whenever you want, you know that—for a visit, forever—whatever you want. You don't have any real ties keeping you here."

Except Garth—and maybe helping a little with smoothing the way for things, greasing some wheels, reestablishing trade with Wayne Corp and easing the way where he could for everyone.

But what about Nightwing? What about his job—his jobs?

Nightwing would be back—Nightwing wasn't really going away. He was just changing his base of operations a bit for now.

And as for the 'Haven PD—the State Department should be able to arrange a leave of absence for Officer Grayson with no problem.

This could work.

"I, I don't know. I guess I thought I'd play it by ear, see how it goes." He hit on something else they'd been avoiding. "But what about the people here? Landsmen aren't exactly popular in this neck of the woods."

Garth saw the look on his face. "The people here will accept you." He said it with such complete conviction that it broached no room for argument.

"There was something else I was wondering about."

Garth was trying to change the subject back to lovemaking, pressing against Dick, his movements subtle and obvious. "Umm?"

"All that compensation you said you'd pay—that Atlantis would pay—for all those ships that were sunk and all the people who were killed and the lost trade and all of that. That's gotta be a fortune, how are you going to pay for all of that? Is Atlantis that rich?"

Like this was the last thing he wanted to talk about, Garth sighed, leaned back, "The estimate is approximately one hundred and twenty seven billion American dollars and no, we don't have that in the treasury right now."

"So how are you…?"

Not quite rolling his eyes at his lover's denseness, Garth almost patiently explained it. "How did I make my own fortune?"

"You found a couple of loaded wrecks, but…?"

"We're Atlans. We know where there's more. All we have to do is salvage it."

"Yeah, but…"

"Rob."

"Oh, right…this is going to work, isn't it? At least for now."

"You mean this?"

"Well, yes, that will, too..." A Pause. "Of course, it always did…"

The end

12/5/04

19


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